I'm Not the Last, but I Sure Ain't the First

I lounged around in the living room, wondering when he was going to come home. He had called three hours ago, claiming that he would be home in twenty minutes. Normally, I wouldn't make a big deal of it or mind, or anything really. The bad thing about it is that today is my birthday. We were supposed to finally have some alone time.

Of course I should have known that he wasn't going to be here for me. It was simply asking to much from him. So now all I could do was just sit around and sulk until he came home. Luckily he came through the door seconds later. I immediately stood and walked over to him. I could smell the liquor on him, I could also see how messed up he was. I wondered how he managed to make it home.

"Tuck, where have you been? It's one in the morning."

He smirked then stumble his way over to me. He almost fell, but me being me, I caught him before he could fall. "Well baaaaabe, I've here, then I went there... then some over there, then down a hillllllllllll somewhere," he slurred and tried to stand, failing miserably and falling right back into my arms.

"I don't need your help, you pussy!" He yelled, throwing his body away from mine and almost hitting an end table.

"Hey! Hey Matt? You know your a fag right?" he said to me as he fell onto the couch.

It didn't bother me that he was talking shit while he was drunk; it's when he's sober that it worries me. "That would make you a fag to Tuck, since your the one fucking me," I stated, frowning on the inside, smiling on the outside.

"Well, if I'm a fag, come gimme a kiss baby." He puckered his lips, but before I knew it he passed out on the couch, leaving it to me to get him upstairs in the bed. I loved him, but I hated him. I wanted to leave him, but I needed him. I needed help... but from who?